Call Me Crazy  Jemi Story
by perfectlyimperfectxx
Summary: Jason Moore could have any girl he wants with the snap of his fingers, but what happens when he meets Nicolette Ramirez who just may be out of Jason's reach. To further complicate things for Jason what happens when Nicolette is not what she seems.


Joe Jonas as **Jason Moore**

Demi Lovato as **Nicolette Ramirez**

Selena Gomez as **Summer Somers**

**Call Me Crazy –** by perfectlyimperfectxx on fanfiction

Chapter One;

He lifted his black combat boot up onto the edge of the desk which he was sitting at. "Victoria," he rolled his light chestnut brown eyes, exasperated by the aggravating conversation he'd been having repeatedly over the past week, "She's not going to find out what happened because you aren't going to tell her, and I sure as hell am _not_ going to either."

"But she is going to find out," Victoria cried apprehensively into the phone, "They _always_ find out." The sound of her quivering sobs escalated to a point where he had to remove the phone away from his ear.

After a moment, he returned the phone to his ear as he leaned forward and propped his elbow onto his desk as he let his foot slide off. He ran his fingers through his short black hair, tugging at it with clear frustration as he kept his voice even, "Victoria, you need to calm down. She is not going to find out, and if she does, she should be happy for you. I mean, you finally got with a guy who is way out of your league. So I suggest that you calm the fuck down, and let me get back to work." He clicked the receiver off and slid the phone into his pocket. "Chicks," he muttered to himself, looking back down at his work. Unfortunately for him, being a mechanic meant that without cars in the shop, there was no work to be done. He pushed his sleek black framed glasses up with his index finger as he scribbled haphazard doodles across his desk.

"Excuse me," a voice chimed out in front of him. He lifted his gaze from his desk to the woman standing before him. Startled, his pencil slipped out of his hand, crashing against the cement floor beneath his feet. His eyes did a once over on the girl, taking in every feature. Her long legs looked lean in her tight black skinny jeans as did her torso covered in only a red and black plaid button down shirt. Her hair was of a rich dark chocolate nature, cascading down her shoulders in a pool of waves. But her face, he couldn't look away from. Her cheeks were rosy red, her dark long eyelashes bashing with every blink, eyes a chocolate brown, chin dimpled, and, lastly, her smile. Her smile was wide, revealing her pearly white teeth; a vision of perfection if there were such a thing. "Excuse me," she repeated once again; her eyes narrowed at his blank expression.

His mouth parted slightly as he tried to gather his jumbled thoughts. "Uh yes," he uttered almost inaudibly, for the words almost didn't make it past his lips. "Yes, how may I help you?"

"My car," she began slowly, glancing over her shoulder at the metallic black 1968 Mercury Comet parked outside the shop, "It's making this really odd noise. I think the engine might be fried. Could you check it out for me?"  
He nodded as he looked at her intently, "I can most definitely check it out." Even though he said the words, he didn't move an inch as he kept his eyes on her.

She made a face at him as she kinked her eyebrow in confusion, "Well . . . what are you waiting for then?"

"Nothing," he snapped back defensively; he never let any girl have or think that she had the upper hand of control over him. He hopped off his stool, wiping his palms against his oil stained jeans as he led her out of the shop. He stopped at the sight of the car in front of him. He had never seen a car this . . . _gorgeous_ in his life—well, at least not in person that is. "_This _is your car?" he sputtered as he stared at the car wide eyed in disbelief.

She leaned against the car as she sighed, "Well, yes. But it might not be if I don't find some good help soon." Her tone made it obvious that she was not entirely happy with the service he was, if you could even call it that, providing her. "Are you going to fix the damn thing or not? I don't have forever to stand here and watch you gawk at my car like a speechless idiot."

He broke his gaze and looked over at her incredulously, "You expect me to help you out when you are being such a bitch?" He laughed shortly, shaking his head. "Honey, I think you've mistaken me for someone who let's petty little girls like you walk all over them."

She pushed herself off the door, strutting towards him slowly as her high heeled black boots thumped softly against the concrete. She kept inching forward until she was right up in his face. "I think you should get your handy dandy wrench and do your fucking job before I close this place down." She glared into his light brown eyes before smiling sweetly, "Okay, honey?"

He glared back at her with a scowl plastered across his face. A girl had never treated him like this a day in his life, and he wasn't about to let her treat him like some whipped little boy. But suddenly he completely forgot about everything she said to him, staring down at her lips; at her smile. He suddenly found himself wanting nothing more than to pull her into his arms and kiss those lips with all the passion building up inside of him. But something about her made him put those thoughts on the back burner, he then replied as he crumpled to his defeat, "Okay." The words came out weak so that he sounded hoarse.

He retreated from her slowly as he went to get his tools, cursing himself out for showing such weakness. _Girls don't want weakness_, he thought to himself. He looked over his shoulder slightly to see her smirking triumphantly to herself. He walked into the shop and grabbed his tool box before turning around and stopping dead in his tracks. He blinked rapidly for a moment, and then walked swiftly out the door and over to the Comet. He peeked inside the car, but she wasn't there. He looked around the outside of the shop, but, once again, she wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere. He opened the car door, sliding into the front seat and reaching into the passenger compartment. He then pulled out the registration, but the papers had no name of the owner. Shaking his head in confusion he threw them back into the compartment, slamming his fist against the steering wheel.

Suddenly he paused as the vision of a license snuck into his vision; he picked it up and examined it. It was the girl's license all right, but, again, there was no name—no information about her other than her picture. _What the hell, _that was all that he, Jason Moore, could think.


End file.
